


i need to get my story straight

by lealila



Series: this guilty land [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lealila/pseuds/lealila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seekers, not saints, and Ahsoka doesn't understand this until she builds her shoto blade in the ruins of Mortis.</p><p>[part of the au where ahsoka is obi-wan's padawan]</p>
            </blockquote>





	i need to get my story straight

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place in my this guilty land!verse where ahsoka is obi-wan's padawan, not anakin's.
> 
> this was written mostly in part to explain why ahsoka builds her shoto blade (and obviously, i pushed it back considering in canon, she has it when they go to mortis), and partly as an "ahsoka gets her groove back together" after mortis. 
> 
> also: the "seekers & saints" coincides with "ahsoka getting her groove back together."

_ i need to get my story straight _

_seekers, not saints, and ahsoka doesn’t understand this until she builds her shoto blade in the ruins of mortis_

Seekers, not saints, and when Ahsoka asks Master Kenobi, he says, “Some seek truth, others seek justice, or trust or power.”

“What do you seek, Master?”

“The Force,” he says simply, and at the time, she does not understand at _all_.

.

Anakin, she thinks (observesfeelsknowstastes, but she’s not allowed to do that with him, not like she can with Obi-Wan) prefers to see it the other way—or at least, seeks sainthood, if Jedi even can.

Many times, he risks everything to save everyone—citizens, his clones, fellow Jedi.

Her and her master, many times over.

Obi-Wan tells him—or lectures, in Anakin’s words—he shouldn’t; he should put the mission first—and that has led many arguments and shouting matches and stony silences that can last days or merely minutes. But Ahsoka knows (thinks, because even with her Master, there’s much she’s not allowed to observefeelknowtaste) that Obi-Wan would do the same— _has_ done the same, in a milder way than Anakin.

Citizens, his clones, fellow Jedi.

Her and Anakin, just as often.

.

Anakin tells her to listen to Obi-Wan when she asks him what a Jedi seeks, and when she tells him she already did, he gives her a Look that she can’t even begin to decipher, and says, “It depends on the Jedi.”

“What do you seek, Master?”

He’s silent for a long time, and Ahsoka almost wonders if he even heard her, before he finally says, “The Force.”

But he doesn’t sound sure, and Ahsoka doesn’t know if that means he hasn’t found It at all, or if he would really rather seek something else entirely.

( _Sainthood_ , she thinks, and doesn’t say a word.)

.

The first time she meets Padmé, she thinks _girly_ , and, well, she’s not far off the mark.

But that’s not—Senator Amidala _is_ girly, but she’s more than that—she’s brave and kind, and doesn’t patronize Ahsoka, like other politicians.

She doesn’t see her often—mostly only when she’s stuck on Coruscant and it is Anakin whom she stays with, and only occasionally when she’s with Obi-Wan.

They mostly just talk, and Ahsoka thinks she should be restless during these times, after spending weeks out in the field, but she’s not and that’s probably because Padmé is fun to speak with. She talks about _real_ stuff, not the Force or battle plans, and it’s…nice.

When she asks Padmé why she never asks about the war, she says, “Well, I figure you get that enough at the Temple and especially while out at fighting battles. You Jedi deserve some time to rest, or at least, something to take your mind away from that _awful_ war.”

Well. That’s—really kind of her. She sneaks a glance at Master, who’s looking at Padmé with something akin to gratitude flickering on his face.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile, and when Padmé smiles back, she catches Master smiling a little as well.

.

After Mortis, she can still feel the fire burning in her veins—fire she doesn’t remember eating—and she wonders if she has changed more than originally thought.

Master works with her to rid her thoughts of anything Dark, and to help bring the Light back in—Light that she has almost forgotten what it feels like. But she feels—even after, she feels different. Powerful. And it’s almost frightening, but she’s a Jedi, and she knows how to control herself.

( _some seek power_ , and she wonders if they find control or chaos or something in between, and she would ask, but she doesn’t know how.)

(she wonders if some can simply find control or chaos or something in between, or if they have to _work_ for it, like she must. she wonders if the former is even possible, with or without the force.)

.

And then Anakin says he doesn’t remember anything what the Son showed him, and she breathes in, out, over and over again until she’s calm enough to ask if he even wants to.

“No,” he murmurs after a time. “I don’t want to remember any of it, really. Do you?”

No. She would prefer forgetting as well.

But Jedi take things as they come and Obi-Wan always says there’s a lesson in everything.

She just hasn’t learned it yet.

.

Some seek truth, and she’s holding a little girl who just lost her family while her clones dig out survivors or patrol the streets or treat the injured. Master’s speaking with the leader of the village—a human woman with tattoos on her belly and legs and arms. The little girl cries for her mother and Ahsoka tries shushing her, rocks her back and forth, and she feels so _useless_ , she should be helping Cody or Boil or Axe, or, or—

A hand settles on her shoulder, and she jumps, which has the child wail even louder before the hand—before Obi-Wan reaches down and covers her forehead and nudges her to sleep.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

But he just shakes his head and takes the child out of her arms. “There is a transport arriving in two minutes; take it, get some food, and rest.”

“But—!” That’s not what she wants to do—she wants to help, to be _useful_ —

“You can help after you have rested,” he says gently.

She chews on her lips, chastened. “I’m sorry, Master. I’m just…”

He just nods, understanding, and says, “I know. It’s not anything you should feel ashamed of.”

The girl shifts in her sleep, and Master absently rocks her until she settles once more.

“Master?”

“Hm?”

She shifts between her feet, and checks to make sure her lightsaber is on her belt—unnecessary, but it reassures her nevertheless. “Is—I mean…is it always like this?”

Was she lucky on Christophsis and Teth and Heros? Was that the figurative “calm before the storm”?

“Padawan.”

She glances up at her master of just a standard month and he has something like sympathy in his eyes even though she knows she won’t get anything close to that in his words.

“You know it is. And if we do our duty, it won’t always be.”

She closes her eyes, breathes in and out, and takes the girl from his arms. “I’ll rest later,” she says and rocks the girl as this small village on Ty’pok tries to put itself back together again.

.

And when she decides to build a _shoto_ , Obi-Wan just asks her to inform him when she’s ready to travel to Ilum, and they’ll be on their way.

He doesn’t ask why, and she’s almost glad because even _she_ doesn’t really know why. Just that it _feels_ right, and Master always tells her to follow her feelings.

And—well, part of her need to build a _shoto_ lightsaber is because of Mortis, to channel the fire in her veins into a storm she can control.

And maybe Obi-Wan knows this because he said, after defeating Maul, all those years ago, he chose to build a new lightsaber and study Soresu to channel _his_ fire into something calming.

She smiles, teeth and all, and he almost smiles back.

.

“Master Yoda says there is _only_ doing,” she says in response to Anakin’s—perhaps well-meaning—lesson about the values of Doing The Best You Can in the face of adversary, and how that actually means Trying The Best You Can.

“ _Do_ ,” Anakin says, and laughs and laughs and laughs.

Except he doesn’t sound amused at all—just bitter and tired and Ahsoka wonders if this will be her in few short years—cynical and bitter; she wonders if Anakin is right and they shouldn’t be fighting this war even if it is their duty to protect their Republic, to _do_ all they can for it, not _try._

He suddenly quiets—maybe sensing the unease she’s not shielding very well—and says, “Padawan, there is a very fine line between trying and doing. You best start getting used to that.”

“Yes, Master.”

But she must not sound very convinced because he just gives her a sad look and then asks if she’d like to visit Padmé with him before going to meet Obi-Wan at the docking station who’s due back in three hours.

Ahsoka doesn’t understand, but she agrees, eager to leave this confusing lesson behind.

.

Some seek trust, and Anakin’s holding her shoulders, trying to center her, but it’s _hard_ —she’s never done this before, has never needed to. She’s only been a Padawan for a week, and her bond with Master Obi-Wan is small, and not nearly as powerful as the one he shares with Anakin.

“Ahsoka.”

She breathes in deep, and out, and over again, wrapping the Force around her like a blanket. Master Yoda says you have to release emotion, but he never taught how to do that in extreme situations, like in a battle zone, or when you see your master—

“ _Ahsoka!_ ”

Gasping, she comes into herself with the sharp command, finally finding her center. “Master—I… Master Obi-Wan—“

Anakin gazes down at her, eyes sharp. “I know. But you can’t help him if you’re not _focused_. Release your emotions.”

“Yes Master. But—“

“ _Ahsoka_.”

She averts her gaze to the ground, embarrassed. “Yes, Master.”

“Good girl,” he says once she has released her emotions, and calmed down. When she looks back up, she thinks he might be smiling. “Are you ready to help Obi-Wan, now?”

She beams up at him. “Of course!”

“I thought you were supposed to release _all_ emotion?”

“ _You_ never do,” she accuses.

He smirks at her. “ _I_ am not your master. Hasn’t Obi-Wan told you to ignore everything I say and do?”

“Well, uh, he said that if I ever listen to what you say, I would do laps around the Temple.”

Anakin snorts, and says, “He told me the same when I met Dex the first time.”

Her brows—or what would be considered brows if she had hair—beetled together in confusion. “Dex?”

“You’ll meet him later. But focus, Padawan. We need to put Obi-Wan in a healing trance to stop his brain from being more damaged than it already is.”

She giggles, and draws the Force around her. “What do I do?” she asks, and helps Anakin put her Master back to rights again.

.

Three days after speaking to Obi-Wan, she tells him she’s ready to go to Ilum and he tells her to be ready to leave early tomorrow morning and to book a ship to use—or see if Anakin has scrounged any since his last rotation in the Outer Rims that they can borrow.

She comms him, and he says the can use the _Twilight_ , so long as they promise not to blow it up. She laughs and he says it will be waiting for them when they’re ready.

She packs the parts of her _shoto_ into a bag—so similar to her lightsaber—along with her heavy coat and some rations then attends her classes, almost driven to distraction and when it’s finally time to leave, she’s practically bouncing on her heels.

Which of course means meditating immediately after they reach hyperspace because she really shouldn’t be so anxious, and she _knows_ this, but she never got to get her lightsaber properly with her master.

Shortly after the war, initiates were taken in groups by a Master (and occasionally a padawan) and Huyang (who originally was stationed at the Temple, but was moved to help the younglings with any problems) to Ilum.

Now, she gets to travel to Ilum like the older generation did before her. It’s an honor, and she’s proud to experience it.

Master must sense some of her thoughts as they rest in the Force, for the nudge he sends to _concentrate, young one_ feels a little bit like understandingprideamusement and she has to hide a smile, but she knows Obi-Wan can see it anyways.

.

Ilum chills her to her bones, even with her coat, but the Force is a powerful ally, and she warms herself up quickly.

(Like the fires from Mortis—but warmer, softer. Like the Light, she thinks, and the Force glows a little brighter.)

Obi-Wan sees her to the entrance and offers some parting words. “Be mindful, and be careful.” Nodding towards the cave, he adds, “You may experience some visions—let the Force guide you, and nothing will go wrong.”

She bows low, arms at her sides. “Yes, Master.”

He bows his head in acknowledgement (and benediction, she thinks, and checks her shields) as she turns and enters Ilum for the second time.

.

When she receives her first vision, her senses tingle and the Force tightens under her skin. She reaches for her lightsaber before instinct (the Force) guides her not to. She closes her eyes, breathing in the familiar _Issla_ technique, taught to all younglings, and when she opens them again, Anakin Skywalker stands before her.

 _You were supposed to be mine_ , he says, but it’s not him—it’s the air around them—or, well, from inside her.

Chewing on her lip, she says, “I don’t understand.”

 _You’re supposed to be_ my _padawan_ , he repeats, gliding forward, arm reached out, and it is then she notices that he has no mechanical hand. She takes a step forward, to meet him halfway when he speaks again.

 _If you had a choice, would you choose me, Padawan?_ He stands before her, transparent hand hovering over her shoulder.

“It’s not my choice—it’s not even yours.”

 _No_ , he says, but she thinks ( _feels_ ) that it’s supposed to be a question.

Hesitating, she declares, “The Force guides us all in our paths.”

The Anakin-vision snarls, and his hands go to her throat before she can react, and his whole visage turns darker until he’s just an opaque black form trying to kill her. “Anakin! Master!”

 _If you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy_! he shouts, eyes glinting yellow in the pale light.

“ _Anakin!_ ”

The vice-like grip only tightens, and she sees stars at the edge of her vision and—no. Wait. It’s just a vision. Ahsoka clears her mind and calls on the Force like an old friend, banishing the visage before her.

He disappears with one last wordless snarl, and she sucks in a breath of air with some desperation before continuing onward, the Force wrapped around her like a cocoon.

.

Some seek justice, and Ahsoka has to clench her hands and use breathing exercises that she learned in the crèche to calm down (and a few others that Master taught her) to not do or say anything foolish.

(To not act un-Jedi like, and perhaps if she was Anakin’s padawan, she would have seen it differently (too).)

Master Obi-Wan keeps his face carefully blank, hands folded behind his back, while the Chancellor prattles on about the necessity of some new military act or _whatever_ , this is stupid, this isn’t necessary, there should be a way to solve the crisis in this galaxy without resorting to add even _more_ chaos.

Five Republic systems defected from the Senate. Two joined the Separatists, the others turned to the Council of Neutral Systems. Chancellor Palpatine wants them back (wants _all_ of the systems back) and he plans to do so by any means necessary.

She wonders what that means for the Jedi—if even more of them must die, more clones and civvies and _Force_ , what has this galaxy come to?

Master Obi-Wan glances down at her, sympathy crossing his face, and she tightens her hands around her saber and does not say a word.

.

The second vision she doesn’t feel coming. A woman—Togruta, not too much older than her, as her head tails are barely past her chest, with orange skin like hers, and similar markings but lacking an akul headdress. For a moment, she thinks it is _her_ , in a few short years. She wonders if her future self is coming to prophesize at her again—but no. The markings are similar, but not the same; the diamonds travel all the way to her eyes, and the lines in the middle of her forehead are straight instead of rounded.

Her future self from Mortis felt—wonky, unsettled. Jedi can feel the signature of anyone, but not of themselves. This woman—this young Togrutan—feels warmsafelove and briefly, she thinks of wild redwhite plains.

 _Mother_ , she thinks. Her hand doesn’t stray to her lightsaber.

The Togrutan—her mother—the vision doesn’t speak, just reaches out a hand to cup her face, like Obi-Wan has done a few times to offer comfort or praise her. (She has seen him do it plenty to Anakin, which seems like neither comfort nor praise, but seems closer to—well. It feels something similar to _family_.)

Ahsoka places a hand on the one cupping her cheek, giving an odd little smile. This isn’t uncomfortable. But neither is it—this isn’t _familial_. She thinks it _should_ be, but it isn’t. But her—mother doesn’t seem concerned. She doesn’t act out, like Anakin had. The smile her mother gives is sad, but not bitter.

 _Mother_ , she thinks. _Mother mother mother_.

The woman smiles, mouths, _my child_ , and the Force churns in her heart as the vision fades from sight, the warmth from her hand gone completely.

She doesn’t cry. She gave up that life long ago. And besides, she has family. She isn’t really supposed to, but Anakin and Obi-Wan are something more than mentors. Siri, and Padmé and Bant could be sisters. Garen could be a brother. It’s complicated, but it works, and it’s hers.

The woman who gave birth to her ( _so very, very young_ ) has no place in her life now. Ahsoka is grateful, but she cannot call up any other emotion besides that. And that—that hurts. She thinks she’s supposed to feel something more for the woman who gave her life, in more ways than one.

 _Attachment_ , though; _present_ not _past_ ; Jedi, not Togrutan.

She takes one step forward, two, three, and the Force is guiding her, clearing her mind, and Ahsoka Tano moves on.

.

On the few times that both her Master and Anakin leave without her, Ahsoka usually has strict instructions to attend classes and not get into trouble because there’s no one to really watch her.

Not that she _needs_ watching, but it’s unorthodox to leave junior Padawans alone for an extended length of time. But this is a time of war, and exceptions have to be made.

But she likes it when she stays with Masters Siri or Garen or Bant—mostly because of the stories they have of their adventures with Obi-Wan (a lot of them embarrassing), but they’re really fun in general. Master Siri always teaches her awesome fighting moves and Master Garen’s almost better than Anakin at mechanics. Master Bant is almost always at the Temple, due to her being a Healer and having almost no combat training—and she always has the _best_ stories of Obi-Wan’s Padawan days. They’re always told with some fondness, and she knows ( _knew_ , immediately, after meeting Master Bant) that they have a special connection—kind of like the one he shares with Anakin, but less vitriolic.

(And she isn’t allowed to _know_ or _think_ that either, but she feels and tastes and understands that (she thinks that perhaps no one is because when she asks Master Siri or Master Bant about Master’s and Anakin’s relationship, they tell her that’s just how they work, but it’s really none of her business).)

When Master comes back (or she leaves to meet him on some distant planet, but that rarely happens), she’s always eager to tell him what she’s learned and he’s always willing to listen; sometimes, he’ll expand on a story she relays, or asks what’s to be learned from his mission. She doesn’t like being away from her master for any extended length of time—not when it’s her _duty_ to protect him and be at his side at _all_ times—but coming back to him is nice, especially when Anakin’s there as well, and he makes jokes and drives Master to distraction. They take care of each other, and they take care of her, in all the ways that matter.

And though Jedi already take care of their own, she thinks this is what it must be like to have a family.

.

She doesn’t know how long she keeps walking, or how deep in the caves she goes. She thinks it must be far—she doesn’t remember spending this much time at the caves before.

“Of course not, little one.”

She spins in a half-circle, lightsaber lit and poised for defense in her customary backhand grip. “Who—Master?”

But it’s not really Obi-Wan; this one is older and seems sadder and missing his calves and feet. But he smiles the same, and when Ahsoka doesn’t immediately put her lightsaber back on her belt, his smile grows even wider. “Are you waiting for an attack, Ahsoka?”

“Um, no, Master.” Hastily she obeys the subtle command, and though the cave grows dimmer, Obi-Wan seems to glow even brighter. “Are you another vision, Master?”

He steps—or, well, moves—a little closer. “It would appear so,” he says gently. “Does that surprise you?”

“A little,” she replies. And it does—he’s more cognizant, more sentient. Anakin and her mother were part of Ilum and made from the Force—if it weren’t for him missing parts of his body, Ahsoka would mistake him for the real thing.

(He even _feels_ real—she knows his signature intimately, and this one is no different than the one waiting outside the caves.)

He hums noncommittally, and throws his gaze to her left. “Why are you looking for a lightsaber crystal when you already have one?”

Thrown by the sudden change in conversation, she doesn’t answer right away, which has him _giggling_ , for Force’s sake. “I am only joking, little one. I know why you are here.”

Gathering her wits together, she stands taller. “Oh?” This Obi-Wan is _weird_. He may _feel_ the same, but Ahsoka observesknowstastesfeels that this one is not at _all_ like her Obi-Wan. She rests her hands on her hips, in an imitation of her master when he’s preparing for the unexpected—at least, as much one _can_ prepare for the unexpected.

“You are here for _me_ ,” he growls and like the Son and Daughter on Mortis, morphs into an alien form found only in Jedi fairy tales. She ducks and rolls as the, the— _thing_ leaps at her. She brings out her lightsaber, the green glow casting an eerie light on Ob—on the thing. It stands a few feet away from her, growling.

And now she remembers what it is: a Cerberus. In the Jedi fairy tales, the dog-with-three-heads guards the gateway to the Force, where all Jedi go when death comes to greet them. In the tales, Cerberus was never—strictly speaking— _evil_ , and she does not know if the one before her has chosen the Dark, or if she misinterpreted, or if it is simply another vision, completely unrelated to the the fairy tale.

“Are you _afraid_ of me, little one?” the middle head growls in Obi-Wan’s voice.

“No,” she says simply, and gathers the Force around her in preparation for a fight.

“But you _are_ afraid.”

Perhaps, she thinks. Mortis is clear in her head even though this vision has no correlation to that time. The Dark Side of the Force is strong and that kind of power scares her. Having the ability to do anything without fear of consequence, to not care about how _wrong_ some actions may be, is unbelievable. Since she was brought to the Temple, she has been taught to control her abilities, and that all life is sacred. People like Dooku and Ventress and Grievous don’t have that—even if Dooku _was_ once a Jedi, he and his minions don’t care about the loss of life.

She has tasted power like this—on Mortis, when she was under the Son’s influence. She didn’t _care_ if she harmed Obi-Wan or Anakin. The Dark Side fueled that. And though it is gone now, there’s still a fire in her veins that whispers in her ear—a whisper she knows how to ignore, but it’s still there.

And _that_ scares her more than anything.

She’s breathing heavily, and tightens her grip on her lightsaber. Her left hand curls as well, and she imagines her _shoto_ blade here, and thinks _green, it will be green_ , but in her mind’s eye, the blade is more yellow than green.

As Cerberus growls, Ahsoka breathes in and out, releasing her fear to the Force. His growls turns into a howl, fierce and painful. He gathers himself and—

And where he once stood lays a single crystal, the exact same color she imagine in her mind.

.

Some seek the Force, and she didn’t understand why Master said that because don’t Jedi _already_ have the Force with them? The Force surrounds them, binds them together, gives a Jedi their power. How can they _seek_ something they’ve already _found_?

But now she’s building her _shoto_ blade in the cockpit while Obi-Wan does Council work in the small quarters to grant her some privacy and here, now, she _feels_ the Force, more deeply than she ever has in her life. And It feels _beautiful_.

And she thinks that _this_ feeling is what Master seeks, this feeling of _life_ and _birth_ (and _hope_ , and maybe she’s overthinking it, but in a world where Jedi don’t get happy endings, hope is the only thing they have left).

As her blade comes together, so do the answers she has been seeking for a very long time.

The Force makes a Jedi—in a way _, is_ the Jedi, just as much as a Jedi _is_ the Force. To seek the Force is only to seek one’s true self, and Ahsoka isn’t there yet—she’s a Padawan, she’s not supposed to be—but she will be, someday.

Opening her eyes, and closing her connection to the Force—though just a tiny bit—her new blade starts to fall to the floor before she catches it. She grins and ignites her new lightsaber, and grins even wider.

The hum of the blade draws her master out from the cabin, who leans against the doorway, arms crossed and glancing down at her with some amusement.

(and she obsersvesfeelsknowstastes something more that might be pride or happiness, but she’s not too sure and doesn’t dwell on it—if she’s supposed to know, he’ll tell her; that’s how he works.)

“Try not to cut a hole, Padawan. I would hate to float home.”

And because she’s (almost) sure she can get away with it, she chirps, “Jedi aren’t allowed to hate, Master.”

His scowl is made in jest, and she smirks up at him, standing and then bowing. “When do we return to the Temple?”

“You mean, ‘when do we get to spar?’” he says, and chuckles when she smiles guiltily in response. “Soon, my young Padawan.” He nods at the pilot’s seat. “Get us out of here, and then we can go learn about _patience_.”

Dipping her head in chastisement, but not once does she bother to hide her smile as she guides the ship out of Ilum.

 


End file.
